SPORTING MOMENTS: The West Indies at Trent Bridge

Growing up on the edges of London’s East End, the Underground, or Tube as we indigenes would refer to it, was like a magic carpet for teenagers across the capital and those who lived in the SE boroughs where the supporters of Charlton and Millwall lurk were the unlucky ones as they were forced to rely upon what was then still British Rail and TfL was still a twinkle in the eye of the miscreant who later created it.

It felt like the whole world was at our fingertips, especially for a 16-year-old such as myself who used the Tube to see so many fantastic bands at the Marquee Club on Wardour Street, and it brought many a sporting venue into the “easy to get to” category. 

During my A-level years I pushed the boundaries to enter the truly fascinating world of Test Match Cricket, my mate Nick and I seeing both India in ’74 and the Aussies in ’75 at Lords. Memories of these days are sketchy but we got to see the likes of John Edrich at the end of his career, Keith Fletcher at the beginning of his, and appearances from a quintessential quintet of Pom-despising Aussies in the shape of Chappells Ian and Greg, Dennis Lillee, Jeff Thomson and wicketkeeper/batsman Rod Marsh.

This test lingers in the memories of stats fans because Australia enforced the follow-on only for England to bat throughout the month of June, making 528 in their second innings to earn the face-saving draw that everybody outside Tony Greig’s dressing room thought was impossible.

It was to be another 20 years before I would darken the doors of a Test Match venue again.

This gives me the perfect opportunity to explain to MFW readers why I never became a cricketer of any note.

I’ll begin by raising both hands and admitting I cannot bowl to save my life. I was not a particularly auspicious batsman either but a half-decent wicketkeeper who would “help out” a mate in his Essex Club’s Sunday XI whenever the regular keeper was unavailable. During two spells in local papers [77-79 and 85-87] I played in one or other of the Essex Business Houses leagues on a Thursday night or a Sunday if I could make it.

The Ilford/Newham Recorder side included one Sunday cricketer [me] and a guy called Boza Edwards, who played for top Essex team Wanstead and was some cricketer, he really was. The picture shows us and the rest of the lads after Boza and I had enjoyed something like a 75-run unbeaten partnership [my contribution was less than 20] to defeat our arch-rivals from Romford. Boza’s real name was Del – he was nicknamed in honour of boxer Cornelius Boza Edwards, of course.

_{The mighty Ilford Recorder works team pictured after a stirring victory over our rivals from Romford. Boza and I celebrate the match-winning partnership with a tinny of Kestrel – yuck!}

Fast forward to 1995.

I struck lucky in 1987 by getting a job with a massive international chemical company. It was my dream job because as Site Public Relations Manager I didn’t have to deal with any corporate financial issues or possess too much product knowledge: I could concentrate solely on UK staff publications instead. And I enjoyed many freedoms.

In the 1990s the company had some 20 major UK sites in places including London, Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle, Leeds, Middlesbrough, and Nottingham. Over the years these became personal bywords for legitimately free hotel accommodation, petrol, and sustenance as I got to see Norwich City play at grounds I would never otherwise have been to:

Anfield, Goodison, Ewood Park, Old Trafford, Maine Road, the Reebok, St James’ Park, Roker Park, Elland Road, Valley Parade, Bramall Lane, Ayrsome Park, Riverside, and the City Ground all fell into my clutches in this way, but it was the venue by the Trent that got the old grey cells on full alert one day.

What’s good for football can surely be good for cricket, I told myself. Knowing I had to be in Nottingham one Wednesday in June 1995 I promptly booked myself the Thursday and Friday off and a room at the ever-welcoming Rufford Hotel on the nearby Melton Road for the same nights. I was off to see England against the Windies!

_{The Rufford Hotel was the perfect place for some post-match banter.}

For any readers not fortunate enough to have been to Trent Bridge, it is unique in that you have Meadow Lane, the City Ground, and the HQ of Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club all within sight of each other. There’s nothing quite like it.

_{Trent Bridge.}

I have to echo Gary’s article of yesterday by mentioning the vibrancy of colour, sound and yes I’m going to use the word, soul that the West Indian supporters brought to the occasion. It was a bit like watching the Notting Hill Carnival on tour with loads of singing, drumming, and impromptu dancing.

Maybe because I’d matured in the intervening 20 years, maybe because my sense of awe and occasion had diminished, or most likely that the crowd was so collectively, inclusively welcoming, this seemed different to Lords in that it very much seemed to be all about everybody having a good time. An Aspel’s-tinged memory maybe, but I still remember the occasion in a joyous, carefree kind of way.

After a reasonably short walk back to the hotel I dumped whatever I had to dump in my room and headed to the small bar, which was heaving. A night of wall-to-wall banter ensued and the next morning I met up with a couple of sales reps from Heygates Flour I’d been laughing and joking with the night before who were staying at the Rufford as well and off we went for the second day’s play which was spent in a similar vein to the first.

Oh, the game. I nearly forgot.

By 1995 the West Indies were well past their best in terms of fast bowlers [Courtney Walsh was the only one with a reputation to feature in this match] but the middle-order batsmen were of absolutely prime quality.

Unfortunately, I didn’t see anybody other than openers Sherwin Campbell and Stuart Williams during the final session on Friday evening so missed out on Brian Lara [who made a measly 152], Richie Richardson and Shivnarine Chanderpaul, the latter of whom stood at the crease on 12 n.o. for over an hour!

From an England point of view, skipper Athers made 113 and Graeme Hick 118 while Dominic Cork, Angus Fraser, and the effervescent Jack Russell completed the list of what I would refer to as top-line Test line players. Mike Watkinson, anybody?

The match was a draw as soon as the Windies reached 417 in reply to England’s 440. The 300-to-win set by England ensured that draw became reality.

On the Saturday morning, I felt like the little boy who didn’t want to go home after his seaside holiday was over.

***

I haven’t been to a Test Match since and, sadly, I guess I won’t be going to one again now.

But the spirit of cricket is never far away as I discovered relatively recently while doing a few of our MFW Match Previews.

Step forward ex-NCFC physio and Bolton fan Tim Sheppard. who shares his support of his home-town Trotters with Norwich at something like a ratio of 50:50, and also former Harlow Town director and massive Brighton fan, Alan Howick [commiserations on the play-offs Tim, congrats on a fantastic season for the Seagulls, Alan].

_{Tim & Alan.}

Both were equally as interested in talking about cricket as football when I did the previews. Tim is utterly made up with his autographs from Ian Botham and IVA Richards – and he was still running his charitable team Sheppard’s Flock the last time we spoke.

And I hope Alan’s finally forgiven me for not immediately recognising his MCC tie the last time we spoke!

As Gary robbed Soul Limbo yesterday, I suppose I’m only realistically left with this with which to draw stumps: